Tag: Toronto

If you haven't already heard or read by now, I've never been employed.

Okay, scratch that.

I've been employed twice, but I've never worked a day in my life. You may be asking yourself "how does that even work?" Well, I'll tell you. Firstly, you get hired at these super sketchy companies (one pushing sales for these "state-of-the-art" knives, the other going door-to-door begging unsuspecting homeowners to sign up to donate a part of their income to reputable charities). Don't get me wrong, I respect those who actually do that for a living, but you know, it's just not for me.

Though, I have never worked a day in my short life, I will say that I do have an impressive résumé on LinkedIn, with relatively good experience in my field and a research position with a professor at my university.

Despite my pretty good credentials, I've never made any money.

"You know, S, when you actually get a job that makes you money, I'll be very proud." I would like to quote my father on that. Gee thanks, dad.

I've had internship after internship, but no money. But in order to get a job you need experience and I am gaining experience. So at least I am doing something right.

After a fun weekend out partying in Toronto — that consisted of many vodka crans, being accosted by bottle service girls, a couple of Minions and an expensive Uber to the club — the following Monday, I decided to check up on my bank account to see how she was doing. When I did, my bank account was not okay, it was on the verge of death. She needed a medic and STAT.

I could not remember the last time I had seen such a number so low in my bank account. I did a double-take, but no, my money was gone, it had disappeared. In my sheer denial, I decided to scroll through the transactions to see if I had been a victim of credit card fraud.

Nope.

I check my chequing account to see if it had been tampered with.

Nope.

I could already hear my mother yelling at me, as she had given me about $200 a couple of days ago when I visited home and I could hear my dad telling me for the umpteenth time to "get a job". I knew I couldn't face them on the phone or having to say for at least 20 minutes "I know, I'm sorry" or "I don't know what happened" or my favourite "being a human in this economy is hard".

So instead of calling my parents respectively to give them the grave update of my fallen bank account, I created a group chat with the both of them and texted them that I was broke again.